


Fault Line

by GraeWrites



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Feelings of guilt, Gen, Insecurity, Monsters, Nightmares, Originally Posted on Tumblr, angst and suffering abounds, blood mention, cursing, description and discusison of injury and trauma, nausea mention, panicking and panic attacks, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 13:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15120110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: When Patton had asked if being safe was enough, Virgil had agreed. But the truth and its consequences weigh heavy on everyone. Sequel to Fight or Flight.





	Fault Line

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, the fic that never seemed ready to end. Yikes. This got way darker (and longer) than I thought it would? Everyone is suffering. Headcanons abound, Logan is long-winded, POV is played with... This is the fall out and explanation, in some ways, of what happened in Fight or Flight. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Virgil jolts awake with the taste of a shout dying on his tongue.

The memory of Roman’s pained scream still reverberates violently in his head against the abrupt silence of his room. His chest heaves with shuddering gasps. His purple t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, his bangs sticking to his forehead. He presses trembling hands against his eyes.

He breathes in for four seconds.

_His barely-contained gasps._

He tries again. He breathes in for four seconds.

_His shredded red sash._

He breathes in for—

_The bloodstains on his white suit._

He breathes—

_Roman crying out in pain._

Virgil kicks the blanket off of his legs and tumbles ungracefully out of the bed. He can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears but it is still not enough to drown out the memories. The nightmares. A part of Virgil is begging him to run but he doesn’t know  _where_  because it’s inside of him, because you can’t out-run the memories inside your head.

Nevertheless, the urge to  _go somewhere anywhere anywhere but here_  is strong and before he’s even completely aware of what he’s doing, Virgil sinks out of his room.

When he rises back up, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut against the images flashing through his mind.

“Virgil?”

The Anxious Side’s breaths are still coming too quickly as he opens his eyes. French doors are left open so that a breeze blows through the white curtains and he realizes suddenly that he’s left his hoodie in his own room. He is open and exposed and this was a bad idea. Bad idea, bad idea, bad—

“Whoa. Virge.” The bed squeaks, followed by hurried footsteps against the hardwood.

Virgil feels hands on his shoulders and finally, slowly, looks up. Bare feet, red pajama pants, a thin white t-shirt. Loose strands of hair fall into wide, concerned eyes. Roman.

_Safe. He’s safe. He’s okay._

Virgil sags a little in relief. He feels the grip tighten on his shoulders.

“Is something wrong?”

Virgil looks for a second into the Prince’s dark eyes, then down at the soft rise and fall of his ( _healed, he was healed)_ chest. The white t-shirt hugs his ribcage in a way that seems to Virgil such a stark contrast to the image of the bleeding slashes through his skin that was seared behind his eyes.

“N-no,” Virgil says, finding his voice just as Roman opens his mouth to speak again. “I’m sorry. I-I just…”  _He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay._ Virgil runs a hand over his eyes. “Just had a bad dream. I don’t… know why I came here. Sorry.”

Roman had been sleeping. God knows he needed the rest after the quest, after fighting the monster and nearly… Virgil shouldn’t have bothered him, really. It had just been a dream. A memory at the most. A memory that has since passed. Didn’t matter now.  _Arbitrary_ , as Logan might call it.

“Virgil, wait—“

He sinks out before Roman can finish.

…

When Roman walks into the kitchen the following morning, Patton is surprisingly the only one there.

“Good morning, Padrè,” Roman says, not quite able to muster the usual sing-song flair he had most mornings. Virgil’s pale face and wide eyes the previous night were still ingrained on his mind.

“Morning, kiddo,” Patton greets with a warm smile. “How’d you sleep?” He hands a cup of coffee—already including Roman’s preferred ratio of cream and sugar—to the Prince.

Roman accepts it with a distracted but appreciative smile. “Virgil came to my room last night,” he says in lieu of answering Patton’s routine question. He takes a sip of coffee.

A crease appears between Patton’s eyebrows. “Was he okay?”

“I…” Roman pauses, looking down into his coffee mug. The knot in his stomach tightens a little. Virgil had seemed pretty torn up. Afraid. And though Roman was Creativity, it didn’t take much imagination to guess what exactly had been wrong. “He said he’d had a bad dream.”

“And you think it was about… what happened?”

 _What happened_. Through the past couple of days since Roman and Virgil had returned, that was exactly how they’d all been talking about it. Or not talking about it, as the case may be. Roman remembers every moment of it all in startling high-definition, and from the Anxious Side’s constantly terrified gaze, he knew Virgil could as well. But  _talking about it…_

What had happened was his fault. Roman knows this. It’s his fault that Virgil’s having nightmares that he won’t talk about. His fault that Patton hovers with questions pressing against his tongue. His fault that Logan had been hiding in his room ever since. His own fault that when he lies awake at night he can feel a ghostly whisper of the pain shred through his chest…

“Yeah, Pat,” Roman says, his voice unusually subdued. “I do.”

Patton is quiet for a moment, then sets his own mug on the counter with a quiet click. “How are  _you_  holding up?”

“Me? Totally Gucci.”

The Moral Side has a gentle, knowing look behind his glasses. “How are you  _really_?”

The Prince swallows and averts his gaze. “I’m fine, Patton.”

“Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”

His jaw jumps. What does Patton expect him to say? Roman had been in danger before on quests, but not like  _that_. He’d never… lost control of the mindscape, if that’s even what had happened. He’d never… almost…

And with Virgil there. He’d put Virgil in danger. He’d risked his life and Virgil’s and for what?

 _Listen to me. I don’t know about this_. Virgil had been practically begging him to turn back. How had he responded?  _This is what I_ do _, Virgil_.

Though the coffee is saturated with cream and sugar, the Creative Side has a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Roman?”

The Prince shakes his head and forces a smile. “I’m just a bit tired. It’s nothing to worry about.” He clears his throat. Patton takes in a breath to reply, but Roman cuts him off. “Where’s our Microsoft Nerd?”

Patton gives him a quiet look at the less-than-subtle change in topic, but lets it slide. “I think Logan’s in his room again.” He looks at the stack of pancakes on the table. Roman hadn’t even noticed them when he’d walked in. “He should probably eat something.”

…

Virgil takes in a deep breath before rapping his knuckles lightly against Logan’s door. He shoves his hands into his pockets as he waits.

“Uh, come in,” Logan’s voice calls, distant and distracted. Virgil quietly opens the door and steps into the room, closing it behind him.

Logan’s bedroom is covered in a broad sea of open books. They lay open across his bed, his desk, the floor; nearly any flat surface of his room has either an open book or a stack of closed ones. Sticky-Notes and dog-eared pages mark the pages along with penciled notes scribbled in the margins of about half of them. Logan is sitting in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk with a pencil tucked behind his ear and another in his hand. A thick, leather-bound volume is open in his lap.

“Logan?”

The Logical Side glances up. His hair is a little mussed, and his blue tie is pulled slightly loose from his neck.

“Virgil,” he says with a note of surprise. He pulls his legs off the desk, his chair swiveling to face the Anxious Side more fully. “What can I do for you?”

Virgil scratches the back of his neck. “What, um, what are you working on?”

Logan glances around his room. “I am searching for information that may explain some of the… unusual events that have unfolded these past few days.”

 _Oh_ , Virgil thinks. He hesitates, unsure if knowing more would help him or just make everything worse. What was it that Logan had told Thomas once?  _If you’re afraid of being hurt, then seek knowledge._ And Logan’s explanations usually did have a quite calming effect on Virgil. At least… most of the time.

“What have you found?” Virgil asks.

“Well,” Logan begins, nodding for Virgil to take a seat on the small space on his bed that wasn’t covered by books, “As we know, occupying space in any of our respective parts of Thomas’s mindscape can have unintended consequences on our processes, particularly if that space is not one in which we are accustomed to occupying.”

Virgil sits, watching as Logan marks the page open in his lap before closing the book and turning to grab another. “Uh…”

“Take, for example,” Logan continues, “When Roman, Patton, Thomas, and I all came to your room when you had elected to leave. Over a relatively short amount of time, Roman, Patton, and I began to feel the effects of your room with the outcome being increased sense of insecurity, emotionality, and urgency respectively.”

Virgil nods. “Okay…”

Logan thumbs through a smaller book as he keeps talking. “Similarly, the sense of nostalgia and emotionality of Patton’s room led to various effects on all of us. Frustration on my part, romanticization—forgive the pun—from Roman, and your stress increased from the sense of where Thomas might otherwise be in his life. Correct?”

Virgil offers a wry, humorless smile at the memory. It had been an important thing for them all to do, but a part of it had certainly been rough for Virgil. “You could say that.”

Logan nods, not looking up as his eyes scanned the pages of the text open in his hands. “Therefore, it stood to reason that I develop the hypothesis that Roman’s corner of the mindscape might also affect our processes.” Logan glances quickly at him through the lenses of his glasses. “Especially prolonged exposure, and particularly in your case.”

Virgil frowns. “Why particularly me?”

Logan quickly flips through a few more pages as he responds. “Granted, I don’t know anything for sure. This is all pure speculation based on what data I had available and the research I was able to accrue over the past few days.”

“Uh—“

“But,” Logan continues, oblivious to the skeptical eyebrow Virgil raises, “Virgil, though your processes are more complex than this mere overgeneralization, you largely are the manifestation of Thomas’ anxiety and fears. Correct?” Logan’s voice is patient and measured. Calming in a way.

“Yeah…” Virgil says slowly.

Logan looks up then, his brown eyes both curious and calculating as he locks gazes with Virgil. “May I ask you another question?”

Virgil nods his agreement, gesturing for Logan to continue.

“Would you say that your level of distress increased throughout the five days you spent in Roman’s realm?”

“I…” Virgil trails off as he thinks about it. Logan is right. His anxiety had gotten a lot worse throughout the journey. The process had been gradual and steady for the most part, and the Anxious Side had largely attributed it to just… who he was.  But by the time he and Roman had reached the stairwell, every fiber of him was begging for them both to turn the other way and never look back.

“Yeah,” Virgil says after a moment. “It… it was definitely getting worse.”

Logan nods as if the information confirmed something for him. “Creativity, as an energy, can often have adverse effects on the fight-or-flight response. Such influence may, for example, lead to increased cognitive distortions regarding the perception of threats in particular. In doing so, the cycle of impact becomes self-perpetuating.”

Virgil tugs at the sleeve of his hoodie as he turns over Logan’s words in his head. “What does that mean?”

Logan closes the book and looks carefully at the other Side. “In simple terms, your anxiety was heightened because the Creative energy that saturates Roman’s corner of the mindscape encouraged you to perceive increasingly worse threats, increasing your fight or flight response, which therefore worsen the perception of the threat, and so on.”

Virgil nods thoughtfully. So Creativity is what made his anxiety so much worse. That makes sense. “Okay, so that’s why I was more… on edge than normal. But there’s still something I don’t quite understand.”

Logan arches an eyebrow in piqued interest. “Hm?”

Virgil shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the hem of his sleeve as he pinches and pulls it between his fingertips. “Roman’s mindscape was rough on me. That’s fine. But it doesn’t exactly explain… what happened. Why would he…” He swallows, his voice dying in his throat.

A crease appears between Logan’s brows. “Why would he what, Virgil?”

Virgil sighs, shoving his hands back into his pockets again. “I…” Virgil can hear the hisses and shrieks of the monster whispering in his ear and fights back a shudder. He swallows hard. “Roman still has control over his realm, right? Everything in it… he created?”

What did it mean that Roman  _created_  the monster that nearly killed him? Did he think it would be some kind of sick joke? Did his ego just get the best of him that he finally created something bigger and stronger than he was? Why would he let it get so out of hand?

“Well,” Logan says slowly, “I think it may be more complicated than that.”

“What?”

The Logical Side snaps the book in his hands closed and sets it aside. He adjusts the frame of his glasses. “I arrived at the self-perpetuation hypothesis the night after your return. The rest of my research has been seeking to address the very question you’ve just posed.”

“And?”

Logan purses his lips, casting a furtive glance at Virgil. “I may have a theory, but I am lacking some… data sets that would be pertinent in either proving or disproving my current hypothesis.”

Virgil’s eyes flash up to meet his. “You want me to tell you what happened.”

“It… would be helpful, Virgil,” Logan says, his voice a bit softer. “And I think it might be beneficial for you as well.”

_The impossibly-strong shadow. It’s hisses in Virgil’s ears as it wrestles for the sword. Roman screaming as its talons shred—_

“No,” Virgil says.

“Virge—,” Logan tries, but Virgil is already on his feet.

“I said no, Logan,” he snaps. “Besides, what happened doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“I—“

Virgil sinks out of the room.

_…_

Roman stands on the balcony overlooking the broad landscape of his realm. The wide expanse of sky is a flat gray, with darker clouds looming on the horizon. The rolling hills in the distance cast long shadows. The usually light breeze has sharpened to a harsh wind that tugs ominously at his red sash and the strands of his hair. Before, Roman could stand on this balcony overlooking his corner of the mindscape and feel that excited thrill rush through his stomach at all of the adventures yet to be embarked on, all the foes to yet vanquish, the performances yet to be acted.

But now…

Roman sighs and hangs his head, his hands beginning to shake slightly before he tightens his grip around the iron railing.

Now the thought of venturing any further than this balcony leaves him with a dizzying sense of paralyzing fear and faint nausea. Roman still isn’t entirely clear on what exactly happened, but somehow he’d… lost control of the mindscape. The one place where he was definitely supposed to  _have_  it. He didn’t always win every battle, but even when he didn’t, he had never almost… died, as a result.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

He should have listened to Virgil.  _How could you be so stupid?_

But Virgil had been watching him so closely the entire quest. And on occasion, when Roman bested a small beast or found a solution to a problem along the way, he’d see the way Virgil’s eyes would widen slightly, the corner of his mouth turned upwards a fraction. And Roman—with a warmth swelling in his chest—felt for  _once_  like maybe someone could be  _proud_  of him.  

But Roman always had to push it too far, didn’t he? Always had to be Too Much, couldn’t stand to just be Enough.

So when Virgil urged Roman to turn back, the Prince refused. The Prince was no coward—the Prince couldn’t stand to think someone might think of him that way. Not when he’d seen the look he could convince himself was pride in Virgil’s eyes.

 _This is what I_ do _, Virgil_ , he’d said. Roman sees lightning streak brightly across the sky as he realizes with a sickening sort of clarity that there was still a truth to the words.

Because that it  _is_  what he does, isn’t it? He dives recklessly headfirst into fights, consequences be damned. Except in this case, ‘consequences’ really meant Virgil. Roman had fought and lost and it was Virgil who  _saved_  him. When Virgil had rammed into it, tearing it off of him despite its impossible strength, Roman knew he would never again see that pride and trust that Virgil had placed in him so carefully.

Roman stays standing on the balcony even as the rain pours down hard and heavy around him.

…

“Kiddo?”

Virgil is sitting in small nook by the window in the mindscape commons with his hood pulled up, but he pulls the earbuds out of his ears when he hears Patton’s voice. The Moral Side is giving him a soft inquisitive smile, holding two mugs in his hands. Patton hands one to him. It’s tea.

“Mind if I join ya?” Patton asks.

“Uh, sure,” Virgil says, pulling his knees up closer as he accepts the drink. Patton sits across from him, taking a quiet sip.

For a moment, the two sit in companionable silence. Virgil inhales the scent of the tea—lavender and cinnamon, he notices—and feels, for the first time in a very long time, the tight knots in his stomach loosen just a little. The mindscape is unusually quiet. Although, Virgil figures that had probably been true for the past few days. He doesn’t know for sure. He’d been spending a lot of time alone, not wanting to bother any of the other Sides.

“I’ve missed this,” Patton says softly, as if reading Virgil’s thoughts. Startled, Virgil looks up. Patton’s smile is soft, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes Virgil’s heart sink.

“Pat, I…”

Patton shakes his head. “I didn’t say it to make you feel bad, kiddo.” He takes another sip of tea. “A Dad just worries about his kids.”

Virgil averts his gaze, opting instead to swallow some of the warm drink. “I… I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, Virgil,” Patton tells him gently.

Virgil stares at the tea bag floating in his cup. There’s a beat of silence between them.

He hears Patton take in a deep and not wholly-steady breath. When he looks up, the smile the Moral Side offers doesn’t reach his eyes. Patton lifts a shoulder. “It was scary, though. When you both came back.”

Virgil’s grip tightens around his mug. The lump in his throat hardens slightly.

Patton’s soft, quiet voice floats in the air between them. “You were both hurt. You were bleeding a little, but I don’t think you even noticed. Roman was… very seriously injured. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes, Virge. I’ll never forget the look in Roman’s either. Both of you were terrified out of your minds.”

The edges of Virgil’s vision starts to blur with tears. He blinks a few times, but doesn’t lift his gaze from the steam curling up from his mug.

“You were both trying so hard to stay calm for each other, but I saw—could  _feel_ —how afraid you both were. When I asked you if it was enough that you were both safe, you told me it was. But… I don’t think that’s true, kiddo. Not really.”

 _Yes, it is. It’s enough. It’s all in the past._ Virgil takes in a breath to argue exactly that, but the air trembles and catches in his lungs.

“Virgil, honey, look at me,” Patton requests softly and gently. It takes Virgil a long moment before he lets his brown eyes flicker up to Patton’s.

“It’s okay if it’s not enough,” Patton tells him as he reaches a hand and brushes Virgil’s bangs slightly out of his eyes. “But take it from someone who has a lot of experience in it when I tell you that you can’t keep bottling it up. You  _can’t_ , Virgil. We aren’t supposed to hold pain so closely.”

Virgil feels his vision blur again and he quickly brushes the sleeve of his hoodie across his eyes. He struggles to find words in the torrent sea of thoughts that press in the back of his mind. “I…” His voice catches but he forces the words out in a whisper. “I  _can’t._ ”

“Why not, Virge?”

“Because… because…” Virgil clenches his jaw for a moment. “It’s too much, Patton. It’s… It’s all my fault. I feel like it’s all my fault, and I don’t know what to  _do_.”

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton says with a sad smile. “You’re not the only one. But you don’t have to  _do_  anything. Just talk to one of us.”

“I don’t…”  _Want to burden you_.

Patton seems to read his thoughts. “This is something we shoulder together. I’m not going to force you to talk about it right now, kiddo, but please talk to someone soon. I’m always around, any time day or night. So is Logan. So is Roman.”

When he glances up, he sees the warm sincerity and tinge of concern in Patton’s dark eyes. Virgil swallows and nods. “Okay.”

…

Roman stands at the door to Logan’s room. He sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. It’s some ungodly hour at night—Roman hadn’t bothered to check the clock—and it’s more likely than not that Logan is asleep. It’s hardly like this is urgent. Roman doesn’t even know why he found himself padding quietly through the mindscape to stop at the Logical Side’s door.

He shakes his head, and is about turn away when he hears a quiet thud and Logan’s unmistakable, muttered cursing.

 _At least he’s already awake, right?_  Roman tells himself, before knocking quietly.

“Hm? Come in,” Logan’s voice replies. Roman cracks the door open before entering the room fully and letting the door close behind him. Logan is leaning down to pick a book up as the Creative Side steps into the room. “Roman. I must admit, you were not who I was expecting.”

Roman forces a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, Specs.”

Logan’s gaze narrows almost imperceptibly. “Quite the contrary. I merely meant to convey surprise.” He straightens up with the book in his hands.

Roman glances around the room. There are more books and scribbled notes visible than there is carpet or bedding. “What’s all this for?”

Logan sets the book in his hands on top of a stack of them at the corner of his desk. “Research.” He glances quickly at the Creative Side. “I don’t mean to make you feel unwelcome, Roman, but did you come here with a specific purpose in mind?”

Roman doesn’t answer right away. How is he supposed to explain to Logan that he’d been lying in his canopy bed, staring at the ceiling, and feeling the echo of a brilliant and intense pain slice through his chest before deciding he just couldn’t take it anymore?

He lifts a shoulder. “A Prince can’t check on his subjects once in a while?”

Logan looks unconvinced. “Roman, it is nearly 3 in the morning. Most are sleeping at this hour.”

“You’re awake too, you know.”

“Doing research,” Logan rejoins simply. “I have stated my purpose. Besides, you are still recovering. Substantial rest is optimal for healing.”

“I’m fine, Logan.”

“Falsehood.” Logan levels a steady, unflinching gaze at the Prince.

Roman averts his gaze. “I just couldn’t sleep, okay? And I thought Patton’s room would probably be the wrong choice, and Virgil is having enough problems sleeping without me waking him up, and I noticed you were already awake, so I just… I thought…”  _What?_ Roman doesn’t even know what he was thinking, really.

Logan looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Have you frequently been having trouble falling asleep?” He moves towards his bed, marking the open pages before folding the books closed and stacking them on top of one another on the bookshelf beside his bed.

“I…” Roman blinks hard for a moment. “I guess,” he admits quietly.

“When did it start?”

“After.”

“I think—” Logan turns to face him, his words careful and measured—“it would be beneficial for you to name it and talk about it.”

The Creative Side shakes his head adamantly, feeling a flash of frustration heat his face. The words spill out of his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Why? Why does talking about it matter so much? I already spend every waking moment thinking about it, Logan, so why do I have to  _speak it aloud_. It’s already too–,”  _Painful_. Roman snaps his jaw shut, but he has already said too much.  

As good as Logan is at keeping his expression neutral the majority of the time, the surprise is evident on his face. “You feel guilty?”

Roman scoffs, throwing his hands up. “Of course I do! How could I not?” He points a finger towards Logan’s door. “Patton hasn’t had a real smile in days because of me. You’ve been drowning yourself in research because of  _me_. Virgil has nightmares every night  _because of me_.”

“Roman—,”

“I lost control of my own corner of the mindscape, Logan,” Roman continues. The edges of his vision start to blur and he blinks hard to clear it. “I’ve never not known what was in the mindscape when I embark on quests, but this time…” His hands ball into fists at his side. “I lost control of it. What does that say about me, huh? Can’t even contain my own creations. I put Virgil in danger. I…”

Logan’s brows pull together. “Wait. What do you mean you ‘lost control of the mindscape’?”

Roman sighs. “I… Virgil and I got locked in a cave and there was this… shadow beast. I didn’t create it, Logan. I… had no idea what it was.” But he remembers it vividly. Its  _not-quite humanness_ , the way it shrieked and hissed and moved impossibly fast. It’s raw strength squeezing at his throat. Throwing him through the air without even touching him. Shredding through his chest with a searing, blinding pain—

Logan frowns. “That seems… improbable.”

“I know what I s–!”

“No, you misunderstand,” Logan says quickly, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of fabricating a falsehood. Merely that this is new information. What you just described is… odd. I assume that this ‘shadow beast’, as you called it, is the perpetrator of the injuries you sustained?”

Roman swallows and nods hollowly. “Yeah.”

Logan hums thoughtfully before grabbing a notebook off of the desk and pulling the pencil from behind his ear. “So somehow, something that you did not create existed within your realm, interacted with you directly, with the ability and intention to cause tremendous trauma.” As he speaks, Logan scrawls messily on the page.

“Uh, yes. I-I guess you could phrase it that way.”

“And this has never happened before?”

Roman peers closer at the page, taking a step towards the Logical Side. Logan’s handwriting is too messy and the Prince is too tired to decipher it upside down. “That would be correct.”

“Then what is the variable here?” Logan mutters, mostly to himself. “Thomas is in perfect health, so that isn’t it…” His gaze flies back up to Roman. “Would you say that there was anything unusual about this particular quest? Anything out of the ordinary?”

The Creative Side scratches the back of his head, confused about Logan’s sudden change of demeanor. “Nothing comes to mind. Well, aside from Virgil’s accompaniment, of course.”

Logan stares at him for a moment. “Of course,” he says softly. Something alights in his eyes. “Of  _course!_ How did I not see it before?” He spins around suddenly and starts shifting books his desk around before grabbing a notebook—different than the one he had in his hands—and thumbing through the notes.

“Um, Logan?”

“The self-perpetuation hypothesis. The relationship of reciprocity is vastly more complicated that I’d first thought.”

“In English?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirks up in a small self-assured smile. His bright eyes rise and lock onto Roman. “Virgil was the variable.”

…

Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. The light leaking out from under Logan’s door meant the Logical Side was probably already awake, right? Virgil’s heart is still thudding in his chest with the nightmare-induced adrenaline that he can’t seem to shake out of his system. The Anxious Side pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his palms. He knocks softly, then hears voices on the other side.

“ _—ination of the conflicting processes, combined with the creation-driven tendencies of your realm, resulted in the corporeal form.”_ Logan.

“ _Wait.”_ Roman. Virgil is almost certain. “ _So_ Virgil _was influencing the mindscape? That’s why that… thing showed up?”_

“ _Perhaps an oversimplification, but yes, precisely.”_ Logan’s voice, getting louder as he—presumably—crosses the room towards the door.

Virgil’s stomach hits the floor.

He’d known it was his fault, of course, but there is still something faintly sickening at hearing the very person he’d failed to protect and the literal Voice of Reason confirm his guilt. He had been influencing the mindscape. Roman’s realm.

Roman hadn’t created that thing. Virgil had.

That corporeal shadow that had sunk it’s talons into Roman’s chest and ripped through his skin had been because of  _him_.

The memory of Roman’s scream floods his mind.  _You did that to him._

Virgil can’t breathe.

The door opens, but Virgil’s mind is swimming—drowning, really—in the repeated mantra he can’t shake.  _Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

“Virgil?”

“Shit. Virge, it’s okay—“

_It’s not it’s not it’s not_

He bolts.

…

Roman shoulders his way past the Logical Side as Virgil runs down the hallway back towards his room. “Virgil!” But the Anxious Side is gone already. Roman rakes a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. He spins around to face Logan, his eyes wide.

Logan’s eyes are unusually solemn. He nods in the direction that Virgil had gone.

Roman wastes no time, rushing down the hall after the Anxious Side. His strides are long and hurried, and he nearly crashes into Patton as the Moral Side steps out of his own room in his cat onesie.

“Whoa there, kiddo,” Patton says, grabbing the Prince’s shoulders to steady him as he stumbles to a halt. “Where are you off to in such a rush at this hour?”

Roman’s gaze is focused over Patton’s head. “Virgil,” he says, shrugging out of his grip.

“Wait. Roman, slow down,” Patton says, frowning, “What’s wrong with Virge?”

Roman barely hears the question. Logan speaks up for him. “I believe Virgil overheard Roman and I discussing the events of the past few days and now feels responsible for what transpired.”

“I have to—,” Roman tries, but Patton interrupts him.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t know how much he heard,” Logan replies, his voice subdued in the dark. “But given his reaction, I’m almost certain he did not hear all of it. I was merely explaining to Roman that the energy produced by his realm entered in a relationship of reciprocity that worsened exponentially until conflating into something corporeal due to the particular tendencies of Roman’s—”

“ _Another time,_ Logan,” Roman snaps before he can think. Virgil’s huge eyes and faintly nauseous look is all he can think about.

Patton sighs. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” Roman says suddenly, tearing his gaze away from down the hall to settle squarely on the paternal Side. “I… Thank you, Patton, but I think this is something I have to do.”

…

Virgil’s breaths are coming short and quick. He yanks the hood up over his head and tugs on the drawstrings as he paces in his room.  _Your fault, your fault, your fault._ Virgil feels like screaming. If only he could find his voice.

He hears the quiet  _whoosh_  behind him and his heart constricts in alarm. He clenches his jaw. He doesn’t need to turn around to tell who it is. “Roman, what are you doing?” he demands. “It’s not safe for you in here.”

“I just—“

“Get  _out_ ,” he grits behind clenched teeth.  

“Virgil, just talk to me—“

Virgil scoffs and shakes his head. “Damn it, Roman—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Virge.”

Virgil whirls on him. “Didn’t do anything wrong?  _Didn’t do anything wrong?!_ I’m supposed to  _protect_  you! That’s my job, Roman! And I-I-I…” Virgil’s voice shakes. His chest heaves. “Not only did I fail, but I put you in danger. I nearly killed you! That’s on  _me._ ”

“No, hey.” Roman grabs his hand and presses it firmly in the center of his chest. Virgil tries to pull it away like it burns him but Roman holds it steady. Virgil can feel his heartbeat thudding hard and fast against his palm. “You feel that? That’s because of you. Because you saved me.”

“Roman—“

“Listen to me, Virgil,” Roman implores. The desperate earnestness in his voice makes Virgil look up. His protests die on his tongue at the tears pressing against the Prince’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought you into my realm in the first place, and I absolutely should have listened to you when you wanted to turn back. You were  _right_ , Virgil. And you were doing everything you could to protect me. And I am so sorry that I couldn’t see that.”

Virgil shakes his head, opening his mouth only to find no words forming.

Roman squeezes Virgil’s hand to his chest a little harder. “I… that monster was the manifestation of your anxiety at its worst. Every nightmare and fear you’d ever had, staring you in the face. And when you were confronted with fight or flight, you chose the first one. At great risk to yourself. For  _me._ You found the strength to overcome it, to fight back, to… I…” His voice catches. He shakes his head, blinking a few times as a tear or two spill over. “You are so  _brave_ , Virgil.”

Virgil’s hand fists in Roman’s shirt against his chest. “But… I… it wouldn’t have even been necessary if I hadn’t—“

“ _This_ ,” Roman cuts in, squeezing his hand against his heartbeat, “is the only thing you should feel responsible for.”

Virgil can feel a sob fighting up his throat as his vision blurs, and he does his best to swallow it down. He squeezes his eyes shut, sending a few of the pooling tears down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Virge. Pulling you into my realm… it caused you tremendous distress. Bad enough to actually take a physical form due to the creation tendencies of my realm. That’s…” The Prince’s voice catches slightly. “I can’t ever forgive myself for putting you through that.”

Virgil shakes his head quickly. He looks up into the other Side’s soft, pained gaze. “No, I… Roman, you didn’t know. Nobody did. And you told me I could turn back whenever I wanted to. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“You said it yourself, Virge,” Roman says. “You’re the protector. So long as I was going to press on, so were you. I should have known that. I should have listened to you, in the very least.”

Virgil wipes at his eyes, ignoring the way the makeup smeared across his fingers. “Why didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

Roman averts his gaze, then closes his eyes. “I…” He sighs, then shrugs helplessly. “I just… I didn’t want you to think I was a coward.”

Virgil feels something deflate inside his chest. “Did you think I was a coward for wanting to turn back?”

“Of course not!” Roman argues vehemently, his eyes flying back to Virgil’s. “That’s not what I meant. I just…”

“Then what?”

“I wanted to feel like you were proud of me!”

From the way the Prince’s eyes widen, he hadn’t meant to say it. His eyes flicker over Virgil’s face, and the Anxious Side isn’t sure what his expression is. He doesn’t know what Roman finds in his face, but the Creative Side squeezes his eyes shut a moment later. Virgil watches a few tears spill down his cheeks.

“For once,” the Prince whispers, “I just… wanted to make someone proud.”

“Roman…” Virgil says, his heart constricting at the look on Roman’s face even as confusion knits his eyebrows together, “I’ve  _always_ been proud of you.”

“I… what?” Roman’s eyes open suddenly, locking squarely onto the Anxious Side.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” Virgil repeats with conviction. “I mean, geez, Roman, you’re Thomas’s hopes and dreams. His creativity. Without you, I…. I don’t know where we’d be.”

Roman is shaking his head. Virgil presses on. “All of the obstacles we’ve overcome… you’re a big part of that. I may point out what the obstacles are, but you’re what pushes Thomas to work to overcome them regardless. You give so much of yourself every time Thomas makes new content. You thrust yourself into the spotlight again and again. I couldn’t do that, ever. Of course I’m proud of you, Sir Sing-a-Lot. We  _all_ are.”

Roman laughs, but it sounds a lot more like a sob. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil shakes his head. His voice catches in his throat. He coughs and tries again. “So am I.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Roman’s mouth. “We’re both a bit of a mess, huh?”

Virgil barks out a laugh, even as he feels Roman brush a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, we kind of are.”

“I just…” Roman brushes at his own eyes. “I just wish I could fix it. I wish I knew how.”

He looks up at the Prince in front of him, stripped of his normal attire, looking abruptly vulnerable and exposed in just red pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His eyes are dark, the beginnings of eyeshadow only emphasizing the fact. He’s exhausted, and scared, and it makes Virgil equally aware of his own mutual feelings of tiredness and fear.

Virgil focuses for just a moment on the thudding rhythm against his hands.

“Y’know,” he says slowly, “a Prince once said the only direction to go is forward, one step at a time.”

Roman’s chest expands under Virgil’s hand with a deep, steadying breath. The Anxious Side breathes with him.

“I think,” Virgil continues softly, “that’s a good place to start.”


End file.
